What might you think?

What might you think?

Maybe you’ve read one of these strange responses that I’ve written here. Or maybe one led to another and you’ve read a few. What might you think of these words?

Writing them is like writing a little message in a bottle every day and setting it loose on the waves. I can tell that a few people have read a few of these little musings or stories or poems, depending on the day but no one has ever said. Maybe they don’t say because they hate what’s here or because it doesn’t matter one way or another or because there is nothing to say.

I am not trapped on a desert island and it’s not for rescue that I throw my bottles into the sea. I throw them out in order to put my pen to the paper, to roll up that paper and insert it into the bottle with sand and stone. I throw them out in order to cork them up securely, to pull my arm back and then release it over the waves, in order to watch the bottle float for a while before being carried away into the distance.

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